


Give Me My Sin Again

by viklikesfic (v_angelique)



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, Dom/sub, F/F, Fetish, First Time, Happy Ending, Kink, Kink Negotiation, Leather Kink, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-30
Updated: 2009-11-30
Packaged: 2017-10-06 00:37:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v_angelique/pseuds/viklikesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for <a href="http://www.dreamwidth.org/userinfo?user=kink_bigbang"><img/></a><a href="http://www.dreamwidth.org/userinfo?user=kink_bigbang"><b>kink_bigbang</b></a>.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Give Me My Sin Again

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://www.dreamwidth.org/userinfo?user=kink_bigbang)[**kink_bigbang**](http://www.dreamwidth.org/userinfo?user=kink_bigbang).

The situation is weird before it's even begun, but thankfully Miranda is good at rolling with the punches. The original plan was that she and one of the ballet masters of the Australian Ballet, where Miranda danced for eleven years, would meet his sister-in-law for afternoon drinks by the pool. Michael was convinced that they would get along fabulously with each other, but nevertheless when he had to cancel last minute, Miranda didn't expect that the woman would insist that Miranda come by anyway. And now, she's standing in front of an immense black gate, peering at the first section of a curved driveway, unable to see much behind that than plants.

"Hello?"

"Um, yes, Ms. Blanchett, this is Miranda Otto, I'm just outside your gate…"

There is laughter on the other end of the line. "It's just Cate, darling, I'll buzz you in. Come around back to the pool."

Miranda hangs up and as she does there's a sharp buzzing sound and the gate swings in on itself. She walks through it and finds herself in front of a house that, if not quite a mansion, is definitely considerable in size. Cate Blanchett is the founder and CEO of the largest independent press in Australia, and according to a magazine article Miranda read nervously before coming, has done quite well for herself.

A brick path leads around to the backyard, and Miranda finds Cate as promised, sitting on a lounge chair by the pool, sipping sangria. She's dressed in long, olive coloured linen trousers and a thin beige camisole with straps that tie at the back of her neck. She wears shades, so Miranda can't see her eyes, but she's smiling. Miranda feels a little ridiculous in her dress, fitted at the top but full of layers and gathered bits at the bottom, in splashy shades of pink and orange. It's something she wears sometimes to go out dancing, but she thinks she must look a little like a clown in comparison to Cate's muted tones. Cate beckons her over and she sits on the next lounge chair, toeing off her clunky brown leather sandals and reaching out to shake Cate's hand. "It's so nice of you to have me, without Michael."

"Don't be silly," Cate says warmly. "This was about meeting you, anyway. Please, help yourself to a drink. Or if you'd like something else, there's a full fridge just inside."

"Oh, thank you," Miranda says, leaning over and reaching for the empty glass and the big round glass pitcher of wine-coloured liquid, studded with orange slices and resting in a bucket of ice. "Sangria's lovely."

"It's a habit of mine," Cate says as Miranda pours. "Bartending, cooking, baking… I enjoy working with my hands."

"Oh," Miranda says softly, hoping she isn't blushing. "Do you enjoy art?" she asks as she takes a sip. It's delicious, strong, and citrusy, and she settles back in the chair to enjoy it, turning her head to face Cate.

"I do some sculpture, from time to time. When I can. I have to make a point of delegating more often; I've always been very hands-on with my business. Bought this great big house five years ago and barely set foot in it," Cate admits with a laugh. "But I'm changing my habits, gradually."

Miranda smiles. "I know what you mean. When I was a full-time dancer, I was never in my flat. Between lessons, rehearsals, performances… and then when I became a principal there was far more, events and dinners with the big donors, costume fittings, meetings with the artistic directors…" She smiles again, shaking her head, and sips at her drink. "It's nice now, having some time for myself."

"And what do you do, now that you're not with the ballet?" Cate asks. "Are you retired?"

Miranda laughs at that suggestion. "Oh, God no! It's a decent living, but certainly not enough to retire on. I teach dance now, mostly to little ones. I do some choreography as well, on commission for smaller companies, and now and then teach a master class."

Cate smiles. "Do you have children of your own?"

"Oh, no. It's just me," Miranda says, shaking her head at herself. "It's not as pathetic as it sounds, really. I like being alone."

Cate nods. "It doesn't sound pathetic at all. I've always enjoyed my solitude, wherever I can find it. I can see why Michael thought we were a lot alike."

"I admit I was surprised," Miranda muses. "I thought you'd be more like your sister, though."

Cate laughs and shakes her head. "Gen and I couldn't be more different. I love her dearly, but we're like peas and carrots."

"Yeah," Miranda agrees. "I can tell that already. She's great for Michael, though. He really lights up when she comes into a room."

Cate nods. "I've noticed that. How long have you known Michael?"

"Oh, more than twenty years now, and that's dating myself," Miranda says with a laugh.

"More than twenty years? You must be a little older than I thought, then."

Miranda smiles and shakes her head, pouring herself and Cate more sangria from the pitcher. "How old did you think?"

"Thirty-five, give or take."

Miranda laughs loudly. "Thank you. I'm forty-two."

"Are you? Well…you have a certain glow about you. Keep that and you'll be beautiful at eighty."

Miranda blushes. "If you say so."

"I do. And I know beautiful women."

Miranda raises her eyebrows at that. It's clear enough for her not to mistake the meaning behind Cate's words. "I see," she says mildly, sipping from her glass. She smiles then, deciding that she'd like to communicate her own interest. Cate's nothing if not beautiful, and Miranda can't deny the attraction there. "I was familiar enough with beautiful women myself, once," she admits with a little laugh.

"Oh?"

"Ages ago. Like I said, I enjoy time to myself, but… there are things one misses," Miranda says vaguely, a little flirtatious smile on her lips.

"Indeed," Cate agrees, returning the smile. "Tell me, Miranda, do you like nightclubs at all? Or is that not your kind of dance?"

Miranda smiles and shrugs. "It's not my forte, but I enjoy any kind of dance."

"There's a club opening next Saturday. Perhaps you'd like to come as my guest?"

"Oh!" Miranda exclaims, surprised. "I… all right."

"Wonderful. I've been looking for an opportunity to let my hair down."

Miranda smiles. "Well… far be it from me to deny you that, then."

"Hmm. Far be it, indeed," Cate says with a warm smile, regarding Miranda through dark glasses as she sips her sangria. Miranda blushes, and she doesn't quite know why.

~*~

Cate picks Miranda up for the club opening, and when the doorbell rings Miranda's still putting herself together, calling out a "just a minute" as she finishes pinning her hair up and gives herself a once-over in the mirror. She's wearing a midnight blue dress that's short but not too short for a woman her age, and it shimmers a bit when she twists. Her shoes are strappy and she has a little bag to match, though it's her only outfit that _does_ go together this well.

Miranda pulls open the door and finds Cate standing there in a thin gauzy pale blue top, her hair parted to the side and tucked behind her ears. Without her shades, Miranda has a fuller impression of her beauty up close, though her eyes catch on Cate's legs and all is more or less lost. Thin but strong thighs are clothed in butter-soft worn black leather, the trousers fitting Cate perfectly with a silver chain belt looped around her waist just for show. She can't bring herself to look away, she really can't…

She's had this happen before, of course. She knows about this inclination in herself, though she hates the word "fetish"—it sounds harsh and uncomfortable to her ears. All she knows is the faint tremble in her body and the growing desire to press her lips to the leather, delicately brush her cheek against it, straddle Cate's thigh and…

Her train of thought comes to an abrupt halt when Cate catches Miranda's eye, her own twinkling, and smiles like a cat with cream. "I'm up here," she says, and as Miranda's eyes fly up guiltily, she knows she's been caught.

Except… except this isn't like other times. She's touched leather jackets, one unforgettable time felt a leather glove against her cheek, but Cate reacts in a way that isn't accidental. She takes Miranda's sweaty hand in her own and guides it to her hip, pressing it against the leather, holding Miranda's eyes. Miranda takes in a hitching breath of air and her fingers twitch. She tries to resist, but Cate holds Miranda in her gaze and a rogue thumb caresses the leather, Miranda's eyes falling shut and her cheeks glowing hot with the shame of it. But Cate doesn't scold, or tease, or… anything. She lifts Miranda's hand, and kisses the knuckles, and then she tugs her to the door. Miranda's body runs hot, and the warmth pools in her pussy. She is so terribly screwed.

"My car's just out front," Cate says softly, looking neither embarrassed nor eager to pursue whatever's happening between them just now. Miranda nods, feeling numb, forgetting social niceties and her plan to offer Cate a drink before they go. She walks through the door and locks it behind them with movements she can do by rote, and blinks as she finds herself sitting in the leather-upholstered passenger seat of Cate's Jaguar. Oh this is not _fair_.

Normally, she would stroke the leather with the hand nearest the door, and not think anything of it. But normally, her companion wouldn't be paying attention to whether Miranda's fondling the car seat, and she's hyper-sensitive to what Cate might see, might pick up on. She catches a glimpse of Cate's face as she turns to check for oncoming traffic while backing out of the driveway, but it's impassive. They ride to the club in relative silence, exchanging only pleasantries and inquiries about work and family. When they arrive Cate gives her keys to the valet and shows the man at the door an embossed invitation. They're waved inside, and they walk down a hallway lit with sconces into the main room of the club, which is decorated in a very plush, semi-goth style. The music is something with a driving beat and no lyrics, and there are already a fair number of people dancing. Miranda notices after a moment, though, that it isn't the usual bump-and-grind, and she turns to Cate with a curious look.

"Oh," Cate says, laughing. "I thought I told you. They do Latin dancing here. I think twice a week after the public opening, but tonight's dancing until midnight and then whatever."

Miranda smiles. "That's fine, but I think you led me to believe that there would be more of the rubbing around sort of dancing going on. Now I'm much more in my element."

Cate laughs. "I didn't say there wouldn't be," she counters, pulling Miranda by the hand to the bar. "Just not before midnight."

"I'll try not to turn into a pumpkin," Miranda replies as Cate gets the bartender's attention and orders them both dry martinis. The bar's packed, and Miranda sees a few famous faces, but Cate's stunning and commanding enough to get noticed. They find a high table in a corner and stand close together, pressed between the table and wall, while they sip their drinks and do their best to hold a conversation in each other's ears. When their glasses are drained, though, Cate immediately takes Miranda's hand, not allowing for arguments, and pulls her to the edge of the floor. The song is a tango, and she propels Miranda into it with the confidence of someone who knows how to lead. Miranda isn't a ballroom dancer, but she knows all the basic steps, and it isn't difficult to follow with Cate's strong frame and clear body signals.

After the tango, it switches to a salsa, and Cate pulls Miranda into a very close hold, Miranda's bare legs brushing Cate's as they dance. Cate holds Miranda's eyes defiantly, and she feels herself blush and shiver as her bare skin makes contact with the leather. She'd been able to forget about Cate's trousers for a little while, but Cate obviously doesn't want her to, and Miranda feels her temperature rise as they dance, not speaking, but not looking away. She's not used to keeping eye contact with someone for any period of time, and Cate's gaze shows that she's in total control. They get through a meringue next, and then leave the floor for a break, getting a bottle of water to share from the bar and finding an empty sofa up on the balcony above the dance floor.

"You move well," Cate murmurs, her lips at Miranda's ear.

"Thank you," Miranda replies softly. "So do you."

They sip the water in silence for a minute, and Cate's hand drifts to the back of Miranda's neck, first gently tracing lines up to her nape and back and then rubbing firmly at the tight tendons. "Oh," Miranda moans quietly, gripping the fabric of the sofa.

"You look beautiful in this dress, by the way," Cate says as she hands Miranda the water bottle and uses her free hand, wet and cold, to trail up from Miranda's knee to her inner thigh, brushing the hem of the dress. Miranda can feel herself getting wet inches from Cate's fingertips and she bites back another involuntary moan. Cate sucks gently on her earlobe and Miranda gasps.

"Christ."

"Gorgeous," Cate murmurs. Miranda tries to put a hand on Cate's leg, but she finds her wrist in a sure grip, and her eyes widen as they meet Cate's, her hand firmly lifted and guided behind Cate's head so that her arm rests along the sofa's back. "Not yet," Cate says quietly, her hand releasing Miranda's wrist only to gently cup underneath Miranda's breast through the thin fabric of her dress, barely squeezing, the thumb sweeping back and forth as she keeps her eyes on Miranda's. "Delightful," Cate murmurs, her lips brushing over Miranda's. A little whimper leaves her mouth, a completely unexpected sound, and Cate swallows it without comment.

Cate's thumb teases her nipple, and as Cate kisses her Miranda feels no great need to be active, to push back. Cate plays her body beautifully, and she's a shivering mess by the time the music switches to a techno track, signalling the end of the Latin evening. She's sweating, she's sure her hair is messed up, and her dress is hiked up nearly onto one hip, but she doesn't want to complain. She wants to drag Cate into the nearest toilets and bury her face in Cate's pussy, but instead she finds herself being tugged to her feet and led back down the stairs, right into the middle of the crush of people on the floor. There are more now that it's a no-skills-required dance set, and there's no choice but to dance pressed right up against each other, her wrists locked at the back of Cate's neck and Cate's hands on her hips. They don't kiss as they dance, but stay locked eye-to-eye, Cate's hands travelling up and down Miranda's body at will.

After two songs, Miranda wonders if she should buy Cate a drink, but her thoughts just fucking evaporate when Cate takes her wrist and guides it down, not to Cate's hip or her waist, but between their bodies, where she presses Miranda's palm flat against her pubic bone, fingers curling under and rubbing against Cate's clit through the leather…

Sweet Jesus.

Miranda closes her eyes and her breathing comes fast, out of synch with the tune, her hand clenching and pressing against the leather, imaging Cate's swollen cunt underneath, wet, warm, her clit pulsing against the pressure of Miranda's middle and index finger. She moans under her breath and her fingers jerk. Cate keeps her hand over Miranda's and grinds deliberately, her other hand grasping Miranda's chin and holding tight until her eyes open. She sees Cate's undisguised look of hunger and she wants to melt to the floor. Her heart is rabbiting in her chest and the room's starting to spin.

"Need… air…" she mumbles, and Cate slides an arm around her waist, leading her towards the exit. The moment is over and Miranda feels stupid for not following through as Cate pulls a ticket out of her pocket and hands it to the valet.

"I… I'm so…"

"Shh," Cate says with a kind smile, pressing her fingertip to Miranda's lips. "Not here."

The finger smells faintly of leather, and Miranda's only complaint about that material would be that it doesn't betray the scent of what's underneath. She thinks about unzipping Cate's trousers, smelling leather and arousal at once, and her eyes flutter shut. She nods and waits and when she gets into the car, takes a few deep breaths.

"I'm going to fuck you," Cate says as they pull onto the highway. Her voice is quiet, calm, even – but firm. Her eyes stay focused straight ahead, and Miranda breathes in deeply again. _Inhale. Exhale._

"Can you come from penetration?"

Miranda bites her lip. "I could… come from your voice," she says almost too quietly to be heard. She glances over, and Cate keeps her eyes locked on the road, but she smirks.

"Careful. I might hold you to it."

Miranda stares at her a moment and then presses her hand between her legs.

"No," Cate says sharply. Miranda hesitates, then pulls her hand away. Another minute passes. "Tonight," Cate murmurs, her voice a little rough, "that's mine." Miranda flushes hot all over and screws her eyes shut, hard. Her hips rock forward once, and then still.

Cate parks in the garage and is silent as she lets Miranda into the house. Miranda follows her to the kitchen, where she opens the freezer, reaching towards the back. Miranda frowns and leans against the island, not sure she can take it if Cate wants to fix a drink before fucking her. Cate turns and lets the door swing shut, something in her hand. Before Miranda can wonder what it is, Cate's hand presses between Miranda's legs and she hisses sharply, the ice melting quickly against her dress, her brain having trouble processing the cold against her oversensitised clit. Cate holds her gaze until the ice melts completely, cold water dripping from Cate's hand and soaking Miranda's dress. Then she tugs Miranda's knickers aside and screws two cold fingers up inside Miranda's pussy, wet and clenching. Miranda's head falls back and she moans, pressing forward against Cate's palm. Cate grabs her chin again with the spare hand, giving her a sharp stare. She raises her wet fingers to Miranda's cheek and traces them from her ear to her lips.

"Tonight, my rules," she whispers, slipping her fingers into Miranda's mouth. Miranda instinctively sucks her own taste from Cate's skin and wonders if she's in over her head. "If you need it to stop, you say 'stop' clearly. Anything else and I'll continue. Understand?"

Miranda nods, and Cate withdraws her finger. "Good girl," she whispers, brushing their lips together. Miranda shivers at the praise and she doesn't know why.

"Come with me," Cate orders. They climb a flight of stairs and end up in a bedroom, not Cate's she guesses from its pristine state. "Lie down on your back," Cate says, and Miranda obeys immediately. Cate is gone for several minutes, and then she returns with several things in her hands that Miranda doesn't quite see before they're put down on a dresser. Cate removes Miranda's shoes first, gently massaging Miranda's arches with her thumbs. She moans, and doesn't protest when Cate wraps her ankles in thick leather cuffs, attaching them with chains to the bedposts so that she is splayed wide. Her chest heaves with her breathing, and she watches as Cate looks her up and down, her expression impassive. She then comes around behind Miranda and sits on the bed, leaning against the many pillows with Miranda propped up against her. Miranda can feel the strong leather-clad thighs on either side of her body, anchoring her, and she lets a shallow sigh escape her lips.

"My beautiful Miranda," Cate murmurs in her ear, stroking her hands up Miranda's sides, displacing her dress again. The back of her hand brushes over the top of Miranda's breast, and Miranda lets out a shuddering breath. "I can feel you tense up when I touch you. I'm thinking about your cunt clenching up around my cock," she whispers. Miranda licks her lips, not used to such unabashed talk even as her body responds to it. "You're so fucking wet, aren't you? All you want to do is touch it, lick it, press your cheek to it and worship it. You're fucking dripping, my beautiful girl."

Miranda flushes hot with shame. She doesn't have to ask to know that Cate's talking about the leather, that she's explicitly working Miranda's fantasy, her fetish, to Cate's own advantage. Her eyes are closed and she's not focusing on anything but Cate's hands on her body when she feels the sudden brush of leather down the shaft of her clit, through the thick matted hair and directly over the source of her pleasure. There's a firm pressure, and she jumps and cries out, her blood pulsing against the point where Cate's unyielding thumb digs into her skin.

"Oh God," she gasps, her knickers flooding anew as her brain slowly processes the sensations. Gloves. Cate's fingers plunge inside her again but now it's different, now she can't fucking breathe. She writhes in earnest as two, three fingers thrust, invading her body, Cate's arms pinioning her in place. She gasps hoarsely and cries out wordless entreaties, then the fingers suddenly withdraw and a gloved hand is pressed over her mouth, slick with the evidence of her own arousal, the other hand roughly fondling her breasts, yanking the top of her dress down and twisting a nipple, hard. Her body bucks and arches and she comes harder than she has in years, dimly aware that she's not even being touched, that she's not even…

Her brain in a fog, Cate slides out from under her and is then on top of her, a leather-clad thigh pressing down against her still throbbing cunt, wet gloves on her face and hair, Cate's lips meeting hers messily for a moment before Cate concentrates on something else, fastening a harness around her hips. As soon as it's on, she tugs Miranda's knickers out of the way and shoves the dildo in so hard that Miranda screams, clinging to Cate, her ankles tugging at the cuffs. Cate reaches underneath and lifts her arse, and the leather against her skin makes her moan for the thousandth time tonight, an endless litany of whimpers falling from her lips as Cate fucks her like this, yanked open and bound, vulnerable to whatever this woman wants from her body. Another orgasm seizes her and she has no time to recover as Cate, frantic and feral, yanks the strap-on off and throws it aside, pushing her face into Miranda's pussy and coating her lips and nose and chin before she crawls back up and smears her mouth over Miranda's, viciously grabbing her breast again and gasping as she rubs against Miranda's hip. She pauses a moment to yank her trousers halfway down and then awkwardly climbs up over Miranda's face, cupping the back of her neck with one gloved hand and holding her head up. Miranda's still having trouble breathing but that doesn't stop her from showing her gratitude, eagerly tonguing Cate's clit and dipping in and out of her pussy, putting her whole face into it. She can feel leather against her throat, her breasts, and she's dizzy with satisfaction. When Cate comes, she can feel the muscles seize up and flutter against her face, a flood of juices flowing out over her skin, and she physically cannot speak. Cate lowers herself slowly to the bed, undoing the chains and then pulling Miranda tightly up against her, cradling her body.

"You're safe, baby," she whispers, her voice catching with emotion. "So fucking beautiful." Miranda closes her eyes and presses her face between Cate's breasts, breathing deeply the scents of sweat and baby powder. She thinks she will sleep for a year.

~*~

When Miranda wakes, it's to the smell of fresh coffee and something baking. She groans a happy, post-sleep sigh, stretching her arms over her head. She then catches another aroma underneath that of breakfast, and her cheeks flush crimson. She presses her fingers to one and makes a face at what she finds. No sign of Cate, and so she steps into the attached bathroom, helping herself to a hot shower. Floral soap and a good scrub of her hair make her feel human again, and when she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she even feels beautiful, in a way she hasn't in years. She looks healthy, despite the slight protest of certain sore muscles, and she certainly is happy. Grinning to herself, she wraps a towel around her body and heads down to the kitchen, finding Cate just pulling a tray of muffins from the oven.

"It smells delicious," Miranda says softly, suddenly feeling shy. "I, uh, I didn't have anything to wear."

Cate smiles brightly at her and steps forward, dropping the oven mitt on the counter and giving her a lingering kiss. "You can borrow something," she murmurs. "If you think it's necessary."

Miranda flushes. "Um, I…"

Cate laughs. "Come have breakfast with me."

"Yes, please," Miranda agrees with a smile. Cate fetches her a thin dressing gown that leaves little to the imagination, but she feels sexy as she perches on a barstool in it, her legs crossed and revealing a healthy dose of thigh. They manage to keep their hands off each other during breakfast, and Cate lends her some cotton trousers and a singlet to do her usual stretching routine, but Cate watches the whole thing with keen eyes as she sips her tea.

"Was last night your first experience with D/s?" she asks when Miranda finishes.

"With what?"

Cate smiles. "That answers my question. Come sit with me?"

Miranda nods and they end up on the sofa facing one another, Miranda on her second cup of tea and Cate on her third.

"D/s is dominance and submission," Cate explains gently. "What we did last night."

"Oh," Miranda murmurs. "I, uh… that's what that was?"

"Yes," Cate says, smiling. "You responded beautifully to it."

"I just… oh God… I wasn't exactly responding with my _brain_."

Cate laughs. "With what, then?"

"My body," Miranda says softly. "But more… my instincts."

Cate smiles softly and touches her foot. "That's perfect."

"Do you… do this often?"

"It depends on what you call often. All my serious relationships, in the past 15 years or so, have had elements of D/s. I have plain, vanilla sex from time to time, but less often now."

"Oh," Miranda says. "And… do all people who do it, I mean the ones who do the submission bit, do they all have, uh… you know, like I…"

"Do they have fetishes?" Cate fills in gently.

"Yes. That."

"No. That's a coincidence. I assume you knew…"

"Yes. But never like this. _Christ_, never like this."

Cate leans in then and gives Miranda a hard, possessive kiss. Miranda gasps and melts into it, and she's full of disappointment when it ends.

"I'd like to see you," Cate says. "On a regular basis. I don't know whether you're looking for a relationship, but you are exactly what I'm looking for, from what I know so far. I'm too old to fuck around."

Miranda smiles. "I know what you mean. God, I didn't… expect to have such a sexually fulfilling experience at forty-two. At least nothing so… breathtaking."

Cate grins. "We're at our sexual peak, haven't you heard? We have at least ten more years of fucking like bunnies, and I intend to take advantage of it."

Miranda laughs. "I… yes, I'd like to see you," she agrees. "Would the D/s thing, I mean does it come into play all the time? Outside the bedroom?"

"That varies. The dominant side of me comes out in anything I do, but how you respond to it doesn't have to be the same in every situation."

"What about… are there rules and things?"

"Again, it depends. Some submissives respond well to rules. They need structure and discipline in their lives. Others prefer to keep the obedience for the bedroom. Others fight back even in the bedroom, but want to be taken down."

Miranda swallows. "I… can't imagine wanting to fight you. You make me feel so fucking good."

Cate grins. "I'm honoured that you trust me with your pleasure."

"I do."

"Then why don't I cook you dinner next Friday, and we'll play around a bit? See how it feels, what you're comfortable with. Get to know each other a bit more."

"Yeah," Miranda agrees, smiling around the rim of her cup. "That sounds perfect."

~*~

Miranda arrives at Cate's house for dinner promptly, her hand clasping the neck of a wine bottle. Cate pulls her in with a gentle kiss, taking the wine, and closes the door. "Come inside," she murmurs, kissing Miranda once more and then leading her not to the dining room but to the living room, where a thick green cushion is sitting on the floor by the sofa, a large plate of food on an end table next to it.

"Sit," Cate says gently, holding Miranda's hand to help her down onto the cushion. She blushes as she removes her shoes. Cate, she notices, is wearing a comfortable ensemble of loose, flowing trousers and a similar flowing shirt, both rust-coloured with intricate designs of green and gold. She has on earrings and bracelets, not an inch of leather to be seen anywhere. Miranda isn't sure whether to be disappointed or relieved.

Cate eats a few bites and sips at her wine before she lowers her hand to Miranda's mouth, a piece of cheese and a small hunk of bread cupped within it. Miranda bites her lip and then leans forward, trying to gracefully nibble the food. There's something erotic in this, her lips brushing Cate's palm, but also soothing. Cate's other hand strokes Miranda's hair, and she closes her eyes, leaning slightly against Cate's knees, taking the food when it's offered.

They spend perhaps twenty, thirty minutes eating in silence. The food Cate's prepared is amazing, all bite-sized morsels that Cate passes down at intervals, alternating with sips of water. When Cate is eating, Miranda rests against Cate's legs, feeling herself sink into a quiet place that is something like meditation, though with a greater awareness of her surroundings. Last, Cate passes down a little choux pastry, and when Miranda bites down her mouth floods with chocolate, a dollop of the stuff escaping the pastry and ending up on Cate's fingers. She hesitates, then licks it away, sucking each finger clean. Cate strokes her cheek approvingly and bends to kiss the top of her head. Miranda closes her eyes.

"Tell me why you like it," Cate murmurs.

"This?" Miranda asks, clearing her throat when the word comes out rough.

"No," Cate replies, her voice gentle and firm. "Not this. You know what."

Miranda does now. Her cheeks flush and she feels her body clench with embarrassment. "I don't know, I… I've never understood it."

"Speak more clearly. Tell what you do know."

Miranda takes a deep breath, and exhales. Cate's hand tightens in her hair, and the slight pain in her scalp roots her to the spot. "I… I like the way it feels. The way it smells."

"The way _what_ feels?"

"Leather," Miranda whispers.

"Louder."

"I like… the feel of leather," Miranda says, wanting to crawl into a hole.

"Where?"

"On… my cheek," Miranda says, burning with shame. "On my hand, or…"

"…or?"

"On my… on my… please, Cate, I can't…"

"Tonight, it isn't Cate. Only 'Miss.' Tell me where," Cate warns, letting her hand slide down to clutch the back of Miranda's neck.

"On my… pussy," Miranda murmurs, physically trying to shrink, restrained by the hand holding her tightly, keeping her head up.

"On your pussy, what?"

"Pardon?" Miranda asks, trembling.

"On your pussy, _what_?"

Miranda's thoughts whirl for a moment, and then she understands. "On my pussy, Miss," she says, wondering if she'll have to say 'stop.' She doesn't want to.

"Beautiful girl," Cate murmurs, her hand switching from grasp to caress. Miranda feels a flush of pride and she relaxes slightly.

"Tell me what you like about it," Cate demands, holding Miranda's hair near the base of her skull and tugging until Miranda's eyes are on her. "Keep your eyes open."

"I… I…"

"Tell me why you like the feel of leather on your pussy, girl."

Miranda feels the body part in question clench at the pet name. _Girl_. She feels like a girl now, certainly, embarrassed, out of her element, shamed. She feels like a schoolgirl admitting an error, or perhaps like a little girl in church, confessing to the priest that she has touched herself for the first time.

"I… it's… forbidden, Miss."

"Who forbids it?"

"I don't know."

"And what do you want to do? How do you want to feel it?"

"I… every way, Miss."

"Tell me what you fantasize about."

"I…" Miranda's skin feels so hot, and she can feel her knickers becoming sticky and wet against the soft pillow. She thinks that she may stain it, and her embarrassment only increases. "I fantasize about… straddling your thigh, Miss."

Cate smirks and gives her hair one brief stroke. "_My_ thigh, is it?"

"This… this week, Miss. I've thought about… your thigh. In your trousers."

"Hmm." Cate smiles. "Go on."

"I… I imagined being naked, Miss, under my dress."

"My beautiful slut," Cate murmurs, and Miranda gasps, lets out a barely audible little sound. She's had nothing but repulsion for the word, but suddenly, in this context… "Go on."

"I imagine… sitting on your thigh, Miss, and… and you… you make…" Miranda can't do it. She _can't_ say it. She thinks she might burst into tears, and the room's closing in around her, but Cate gives her hair a jerk, pulling her back into focus. Cate bends and presses her forehead to Miranda, her voice dripping with pure poison.

"_Tell_ me."

Miranda shudders and feels a tickling drop of moisture against her thigh. "You make me wet," she whispers, Cate's eyes boring into her own. "You make me… so wet."

"Yes," Cate purrs, stroking her hair, her breath warm against Miranda's lips. "That's my girl. And then?"

Oh, God. The words, "my girl"… Miranda is so warm, so wet, so aroused. "I slide to the floor," she murmurs, her cheeks pink but her eyes glued on Cate's. "You don't ask me to. I need to smell it."

"Smell what?"

"Smell what you do to me, with the leather, I have to, and I… the tip of my nose touches it, accidentally."

"And then?"

"I'm so ashamed," Miranda whispers.

"But you don't stop."

"No," Miranda moans, her cunt clenching rhythmically. She's rocking against the pillow but she doesn't focus on it. Her whole focus is on Cate's eyes, and on the fog Cate's put her in, how she feels warm and heavy but supported, captivated. "No, I don't stop," she murmurs quickly. "I have to taste, God, I… _have_ to. It's so fucking good."

"Don't stop."

"I need… oh God, I _need_ your pussy, Miss," she gasps in a moment of sudden confidence brought on only by how deeply she's pushed herself into this fantasy. Cate's hand goes tight on the back of her neck, and she pulls her in, but then immediately down, her parted lips only brushing and catching over Cate's for a moment before she is pressed between Cate's legs, her face smushed against the thin damp fabric of Cate's skirt. She inhales deeply, gasps, and comes, crying out, shoving her face harder against the soft mound of flesh, her mouth finding Cate's labia and biting gently through fabric as she floods her lace knickers and the pillow.

Cate growls like a wild thing, and Miranda hears it in some disconnect, whimpering in relief and pain and trying to burrow further, licking in frustration at the fabric. Cate wrenches her head away and jerks her skirt up, and then shoves Miranda's face back against her cunt through a pair of black satin knickers. Miranda rubs with her chin and her nose and laves with her tongue and moans at the taste and the smell and everything that is so fucking _dirty_ to her, all these desires that go beyond a fetish or a fantasy but straight into the core of her gut, grasping hold of some _thing_ that is inside her and has never been let out. _Girl_ she thinks with a fresh flush of shame, but this time she takes it and she holds it deep inside her belly, twisting the word around in her head as she nuzzles Cate's pussy and hears the cries and moans of the woman above her. _Yes, yes, yes, **girl**!_ her brain shouts, egging her on. _**Her** girl_.

As Cate gets close, she begins to rock her pelvis carelessly against Miranda's face, restricting her breathing, and Miranda revels in being used in this way, though the desire is completely new. Her lips get mashed up against her teeth and when Cate just presses up against her face for one long, drawn out moment, she dares to nibble at Cate's clit through the fabric. She's rewarded with a shout and a messy flood against her chin, soaking the knickers. _Oh, oh_, she whispers in her head. She presses one hand between her legs, _hard_, and she comes again, inhaling deeply. _Yes._

There is a quiet moment as they both catch their breath, and then Cate pulls her up onto the sofa, and Miranda rests her head on Cate's breasts, kissing her cleavage and nuzzling softly. "Your girl," she whispers. "Your girl."

Cate breathes in deeply, and it sounds like a sigh. A niggling finger of worry scratches coldly at the inner wall of Miranda's chest, and she swallows it down. _No_, she thinks. _No. Not now._

They rest.

~*~

Cate comes to Miranda's little house the next weekend. They'd spent the night and the morning doing the usual couple-type things, and then Miranda had left, feeling happy but still uncertain. By this Friday, she's ready to go in head-first, and let the chips fall where they may, rather than risk what might come if she does it half-arsed.

"Come in, Miss," she says demurely, closing the door behind Cate and looking at her expectantly, holding her hands behind her back because it seems like the kind of thing a submissive would do.

Cate smiles, but it's not all there, and she reaches around to grasp Miranda's wrist, pulling it up to her lips. "Just Cate tonight, Miranda. How are you?"

Miranda frowns. "Fine, um… I thought…"

"Hmm? Oh, this is lovely," Cate says, stepping inside.

"Thank you," Miranda replies. "Why don't you want to call me Miss?" she asks, trying not to let the panic rise in her chest. "Did you change your mind?"

Cate smiles again and kisses her cheek this time. "No. It just doesn't have to be all that way, all the time," she says casually, walking further into the house. "This really is a lovely place."

"Thank you," Miranda replies again, completely confused. "Can I offer you a glass of wine?"

"That would be lovely, thank you." Cate sits down on the sofa, and Miranda brings two glasses of red in, her hands trembling slightly. She sits down next to Cate, hoping for some reassurance, but Cate starts prattling on about work, her hand only resting lightly on Miranda's knee. After a few minutes, she's not just lost, but she's upset, too, and she interrupts Cate mid-sentence.

"Stop it. Just… stop it."

Cate frowns. "What?"

"You can't… _do_ this," Miranda groans. "I can't just sit here and have a conversation with you."

"You can't?" Cate looks hurt.

"Not after everything that fucking _happened_!" Miranda bursts out. "You showed this whole new bloody _world_ to me, and I did pretty well with it, all things considered, I thought. Now you have me _craving_ it, and tonight you're acting like nothing happened between us. What the fuck?"

Cate stares for a moment. "I made a mistake," she finally says, quietly.

"What do you mean?" "I shouldn't have opened that can of worms." "What do you mean, you shouldn't have?" Miranda says, more softly. "I… _like_ it."

"A little too much, I think."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that this is what _happens_!" Cate exclaims, frustrated. "And for you, it's two bloody _weeks_!"

"What are you talking about?" Miranda asks, feeling hurt but more acutely, confused.

"You don't want to have a casual conversation—you want to be on your knees, all the time. You want to be nothing but my _girl_," Cate hisses, and Miranda stings like she's been slapped.

"Is that so terrible?" she snaps, her eyes on fire. She can't handle the shame of it. It had felt good, it had felt _right_, but now her worst fears are realised and she can't face that. She gets quickly to her feet and walks away, into her bedroom, locking the door and moving well away from it before she bursts into tears, her hand pressed over her mouth to keep quiet.

"Miranda?" a quiet voice calls out to her from the door, perhaps two minutes later. She doesn't choose to answer. "Miranda, I… that wasn't what I meant." Miranda closes her eyes and hugs her knees to her chest. A moment later, the door opens, and Cate is standing in it, looking sheepish, holding a hairpin. "Please, I didn't mean… I didn't mean that there was anything wrong with wanting to be _someone's_ girl," she murmurs, stepping into the room but not any closer. "I didn't mean to shout at you. It's only… I'm not ready for someone to be _mine_ so quickly. I wanted to believe that I'd found someone who wanted more than that."

Miranda stares at her, rubbing at her eyes. "But you _said_ that you have...what could be more than that?"

"Someone who cares about _me_. Not just 'Miss.' Not just that."

Miranda frowns. "But isn't that _part_ of being yours? Isn't being your girl… isn't part of that falling in love with _you_?"

Cate bites her lip. "I don't… I don't know. It doesn't have to be."

"Cate, I wouldn't… I don't want to give _you_ up to have _that_. I want both."

"How do you know? You're so new."

"I'm not new to falling for someone," Miranda points out. "Jesus. I'm new to someone bringing my fantasies out in the open. I'm new to someone taking control of me like that, without a motive to hurt. I'm new to feeling just the way I did at your feet. But I couldn't feel those things if you weren't you. I just… I don't know if I need it all the time. If you want to have dinner, let's have dinner, and I'll be me, and you'll be you. But don't show it to me and then tell me I _can't_ have it. That's cruel."

Cate sighs, and is quiet for a long minute. "You're right," she says finally. "But this is a fucking leap for me. To trust so quickly."

Miranda laughs, a little cold. "You think it's not for me?" She gets to her feet, and brushes her hair back. "Do you think I've ever felt so vulnerable as I did the other night? You think I've ever let someone say the _exact things_ that bring me the most shame and got off on them?"

"You liked it," Cate replies.

"Yeah. I did. But you could show a little fucking respect."

Cate snarls at that, and Miranda finds herself pinned suddenly against the wall, Cate's face close to her own. "Don't try to teach me a lesson about respect," Cate hisses, her face changing in a matter of seconds from gentle but frustrated to pure anger. _The fucking nerve_, Miranda thinks. Cate has her own demons, obviously, but Miranda isn't feeling particularly submissive right now. She wants to fight back.

"Don't tell me what to do," she snarls, shoving back. Cate stumbles a few steps and then regains control, kicking off her high-heeled shoes for better balance and grabbing hold of the front of Miranda's shirt.

"Do you want to be my girl or don't you? Make up your fucking mind."

Miranda grunts and shoves at Cate, but Cate pulls Miranda with her, grabbing her arms tightly and propelling them both off the wall, toward the bed. Miranda goes down on her back and Cate's on top of her before she can roll away, pinning Miranda down with her thighs.

"Stop it," Cate hisses, grabbing Miranda's wrists and pressing their foreheads together, her eyes teary and her hair a mess. "Just fucking stop it."

Miranda growls and pushes up, but Cate holds her fast, until she's out of breath.

"You make it so fucking hard," Cate whispers, and the fight goes out of her, her head pressed to Miranda's breasts through her rumbled shirt. "It's so fucking hard."

"What is?" Miranda whispers.

"I can't control myself with you."

Miranda sighs and strokes her hair. "No. Neither can I."

~*~

They sit on the sofa, a pizza box on the coffee table in front of them, cradling their slices like shields in front of their lips. In the sink, the pans sit soaking, the dinner burnt in the time it took to exorcise their tears. Now, Miranda sits on one side of a barricade, half a foot of upholstered cushion, and the silence of the living room is deafening.

"Did you grow up in Sydney?" she asks, her voice harsh and hoarse to her own ears. She swirls wine in the glass and sips from it, not meeting Cate's eyes.

"I… yes. In the suburbs."

"Did you have any pets?"

"What?" Cate exclaims in a kind of a laugh, staring at Miranda. She looks up and smiles, sheepishly, takes a bite and wipes the grease from her chin with the back of her hand.

"Pets. Did you have any, growing up?"

Cate smiles and nods. "A dog. Lily. She was a border collie."

"I had a fish," Miranda murmurs. "Named Marvin."

"Come here," Cate whispers, lifting her arm. Miranda scuttles forward hesitantly, using one hand to crawl across the space, the other holding the pizza aloft. She settles across Cate's lap, her head on the arm of the couch, supported by a pillow. Cate's hand rests splayed on Miranda's belly, and she stares at it as she speaks. "I'm sorry."

"Don't –"

"I am. I can't accuse you for the sins of past lovers."

Miranda doesn't have anything to say to that, so she finishes her pizza and licks the grease from her fingers, resting her hand on top of Cate's. "Do you like bad romantic comedies?"

Cate smiles. "Sometimes."

Miranda turns her head, presses her lips to the fabric covering one slender rib, and reaches for the remote.

~*~

"Will you tell me how it works, normally, for you?" Miranda asks. She's perched on the counter of Cate's kitchen island, dressed in a long brown skirt with a slit up to the thigh and a comfy yellow cashmere jumper. Her legs are crossed at the slit in a half-attempt to be alluring, but Cate's paying more attention the food at the moment than to her, and with the smells coming out of the saucepans on Cate's stove, Miranda doesn't really mind. Instead, she sips at the glass of Chenin Blanc Cate handed her when she walked in the door and decides to gets some answers.

"How what works?" Cate asks, tasting the gravy and adding seasoning.

"Having a girl. Dominance and submission, in a relationship. What are the rules, who sets them?"

Cate frowns, draining a pot of potatoes and reaching for a masher. "It depends, I suppose. There's negotiation, normally, if it's formal. If there are to be set everyday rules. You have to talk about limits, specify a safeword, figure out what will and won't work. There's a whole spectrum of options, from a 24/7 slave to a casual relationship with the occasional scene."

Miranda raises her eyebrows at the word "slave," but is careful not to pass verbal judgment. "Okay. That's what you said before, pretty much. But where do _you_ tend to fall on that spectrum?" she asks, trying to get past the general explanation that Cate already gave the last time she brought it up.

Cate shrugs and looks uncomfortable. It's striking, Miranda thinks, how beautiful she is, her sleeveless black dress falling almost to her bare feet, displaying slim pale shoulders. Her hair is tucked behind her ears, her hands moving quickly from dish to dish, her ice blue eyes troubled. Miranda wants to press a kiss to the nape of her neck, splay her hands on Cate's belly, and say that everything will be just fine, but she doesn't. She needs to know that Cate can figure this out with her, as equals, before she chooses the next step.

"In the past… relatively formal," Cate answers quietly, moving the sausages around in their pan with a spatula. "I suppose I attract that, from the way I run a scene."

"But it's not what you want?" Miranda says softly.

"_In_ scene, sure."

"Is there no reason, then, that it can't be more fluid? Can't you shift in and out of role?"

Cate frowns. "Perhaps."

"You were hesitant to let me call you Miss, but I wonder if that word necessarily has to mean so much. Can't you… be Miss, and still joke around? Still have fun? I didn't mean for the word to indicate a scene, or anything strictly formal."

"It would be confusing to you," Cate says sharply. "It's important to set clear expectations; I can't just go from joking one minute to punishing you for being too casual the next."

"What's to say it has to be about punishment?" Miranda murmurs, sliding off the counter and leaving her glass. "I didn't come to you to be disciplined," she whispers against the whorl of Cate's ear, her fingers encircling slender hips and massaging gently to ease the tension in Cate's frame.

"Then why do you come?" Cate asks, her eyes falling shut, the spatula falling with a dull clatter to the side of the pan.

"For pleasure," Miranda whispers, gently closing her teeth over the fleshy nub of earlobe. "To confront my shame and revel in it. The world punishes me enough. I don't need you for that."

Cate's body goes still, and Miranda simply holds her, letting the minutes pass unmarked.

"Think about it," she coos, and then lets Cate get back to their meal.

~*~

The light is low, Cate's lips pressed to the arch of Miranda's foot as her hands skim up a bare leg. The side of her hand connects with Miranda's clit in a steady press, fingertips still clenching the toned muscle within their reach.

"Ngh," Miranda moans as Cate's wrist twists and her fourth and pinkie finger press in, stretching Miranda's knickers and letting the warm sticky stain spread outward across the fabric.

"Beautiful," Cate whispers, holding Miranda's gaze as she moves up and bites a nipple through the gathered fabric of Miranda's dress.

"Miss!" Miranda cries, clutching the sofa cushions hard.

"Hmm," Cate replies with a cheeky grin, licking the fabric and then nuzzling into Miranda's décolletage. "Does this make Mirry wet? Pretty little girl."

Miranda gasps at Cate's obscenities, but licks her fingers easily just the same when they're offered, trailing her tongue down into the webs between them and up around the manicured nails.

"My precious little treat. I could just eat you up," Cate purrs, trailing her spit-slick fingers down the side of Miranda's neck. "Hike your dress up. Show me your pussy."

Miranda blushes crimson, but she does as she's told, pulling the fabric up to her waist and lifting one leg up, knee hooking over the low back of the couch, the other foot falling to the floor. Cate purrs with pleasure and shoves a pillow under Miranda's arse, then grabs her knickers and just pulls, hard enough to imprint little pink ridges in Miranda's skin, hard enough to rip the fabric and expose most of her vulva and part of her arse. Miranda gasps and Cate grins, shoving two fingers up inside Miranda's already dripping folds.

"Oh, darling," Cate murmurs, in the sympathetic tone of voice a schoolteacher might use with an embarrassed student. "You've got a little flood down here." Miranda whimpers, and of course Cate's words don't help. "Hmm, sweet little pussy's causing a flood, just can't help it, my naughty little princess. Say you're sorry, pretty girl," she says as she twists her fingers and curls them up at the same time, jabbing into the spongey little concentration of tissue that makes Miranda's back arch and a groan escape her lips.

"I'm sorry, Miss."

"And why are you sorry, my pretty little princess?"

"For… making a mess, Miss?"

"Hmm. No. Miss likes messes, pretty. I think you're sorry that you can't have more just yet. Isn't that right, my greedy little girl?"

"Oh, _yes_, Miss."

"Does my precious little slut want my cock?"

"Yes, _yes_, Miss!"

"Hmm. No." Cate withdraws her fingers, and Miranda's pussy closes up behind her with a faint wet sound. Miranda blushes heavily, and then Cate slides one slick finger into her arse.

"Oh _God_!" she groans, her voice finding a deeper tenor, her body twitching in unexpected pleasure.

"Oh, that's just lovely," Cate murmurs, bending down and giving Miranda's pubic bone, still covered by the torn fabric, a kiss. "My little girl likes having it up the bum, does she?"

Miranda's blush only intensifies. "I… I don't know, Miss."

"Well then, my pretty girl," Cate says, reaching behind the couch with her other hand and producing two items—an all-leather gag and a leather blindfold—then depositing them on Miranda's chest. "You'll find out. Put those on for me."

Miranda whimpers again, doing the gag first, finding the place to bite and doing the buckle with trembling fingers. It pushes her tongue back a bit, but not so much that she can't lick, can't taste. She does so as she fastens the blindfold, blocking out Cate's sultry, deviant smile.

"Oh, my girl is a precious little treat indeed. Imagine what I'm seeing, girl. Dress hiked up, legs splayed, blindfolded and gagged in matching leather, panties ripped, finger up your arse. Oops—two fingers," she teases, pushing the other one up inside her, still wet with her own lubrication. Miranda moans into the gag, feeling the vibrations through the stretch of her mouth.

"That's my slut," Cate murmurs, and she pushes four fingers—the other hand, Miranda figures out after a moment of confusion, up inside Miranda's pussy, the thumb pressing hard down on her fleshy mound. She shrieks, but the sound is muffled, and she feels herself expand around Cate's fingers, her arse clenching down on the other two. "If you need a safeword, grab my hair," Cate instructs. "Otherwise," she continues, her voice thick with deviousness, "this doesn't stop."

Miranda shakes her head frantically. No, no, she doesn't want it to stop. Without her sight, she's zeroed in on touch and smell and taste, leather overwhelming her senses, and Cate reaping the benefits of her arousal. Her body blooms around Cate's fingers, expands, and she feels like she could take a fist in each end at this point, her muscles knowing no limits. Cate closes her teeth over the remaining fabric of Miranda's knickers, and tugs gently, pulling at her pubic hair. Miranda cries out again, and her hips still for the moment, but it doesn't matter. Cate keeps slowly fucking her with the two fingers, beckoning with the four, a steady sweeping, curling, pressing motion. Miranda cries out and comes around them and Cate keeps going, exploiting her trembling body, her sopping wet cunt. Miranda feels the gentle sweep of a tongue around her sensitive, throbbing clit, and hears the lapping sound of Cate licking her own palm. But she doesn't stop, and Miranda's body weakly approaches another peak.

"Look at my exhausted little girl," Cate coos. "Taking most of my hand, taking my fingers, coming because I want her to. You won't stop, darling. Not while your body can keep going," she warns, circling the fingers in Miranda's arse, stretching the tight hole. "I love it when sweet girls want to beg, but they can't. You'll just keep drooling and biting down around that warm leather gag, and it'll set your clit on fire even though you don't want it to, even though you think you want to rest. I know you already, baby, I know what you'll ask for. You're afraid of what you want, but you love it, don't you? You crave it. So part of you wants to say no, but stretch of your mouth, and the spread of your cunt tells me, yes, yes, yes." Miranda comes, hard, almost unable to hear what Cate says over the squealing plea of her muffled cries. "It says something to me, Mirry. It says Miss, please, please. Give me my sin again."

And so, Cate does.

~*~

"Find anything interesting?" Cate asks, smiling as she walks into the small, private library off of her bedroom. It was supposed to be one of a set of his-and-hers walk-in closets, but instead Cate keeps three tall cases of books, separate from the larger library downstairs, with a space just big enough to walk through in the center. It's here Miranda is curled up, back to one shelf, a book in her lap. Her whole vuvla, and her arse, are throbbing, even though it's been a few hours since the scene ended. Four orgasms under Cate's hands, and then another with a leather truncheon before Cate allowed Miranda to bring her off and finish the scene. Cate passes a re-filled water bottle down, then slides onto the carpet next to her, pulling Miranda's head to her chest, stroking her hair.

"It's very pretty, Miss," Miranda says, showing Cate what she's looking at. It's an erotic photography book, all shibari, all women.

"Ah, yes, it is. It's quite an art form."

"Do you know how to do it?"

"No, but one can learn," Cate says, sliding her finger down the spine of another shibari book, this one an instruction manual with pen-and-ink pictures. "There are also classes for that kind of thing."

"_Classes_?" Miranda exclaims, and Cate laughs, touching her finger to Miranda's lips.

"Yes, lovely. Classes. We aren't the only ones, you know."

Miranda blushes. "But who teaches them?"

"A few people. There's a Mistress in Sydney who does quite a few, and two men that I know of elsewhere in New South Wales. Sometimes there will be a conference, with workshops, or someone passing through. There's more in the States and in Europe, but we do all right."

"Wow. I had no idea."

"Hmm. Where there is perversion, commercial interests will come."

"Where did you get all these books? There are so many."

Cate laughs. "Well, I'm a publisher, lovely girl. I like books. Some of them I found in shops, most online. I keep an eye on the market. Did you see the fiction?"

"Oh, no, not yet."

"Hmm. You might like some of these," she suggests, handing over a collection of kinky lesbian erotica. "Why don't you borrow it? Read some bedtime stories. And describe to me later what you did to yourself. In detail," she says, tone sharpening just a little. Miranda shivers.

"I'd like that."

Cate smiles and pulls Miranda's hair back from her face, kissing her cheek. "I thought you might, sweet."

"Was… it good, then?" Miranda asks a little uncertainly, sipping her water. "You think this might work?"

Cate breathes deeply, but she keeps Miranda's head pressed against her chest, holding her close. "I think it might."

~*~

Miranda feels eyes on her back, but it doesn't stop her. She slowly lifts from the chest, her arms over her head sweeping an arc as she moves up from the floor, gradually reaching a vertical position. Her legs are stretched in a near-horizontal split, flexibility only starting to wane with age. Her fingers reach skyward as her head tilts gently back, focus lifting her upper body away from her pelvis and then slowly to the right, pinkie finger guiding until her nose touches her knee. She feels the stretch in her legs and back, but she cannot remove awareness from the dull soreness in her arse, from her pussy. Memories of last night flood her knickers underneath the loose yoga pants, and a blush fills her cheeks.

She stretches again through her fingers, reaching past her toes, and lifts back to vertical, twisting and slowly stretching back down over the left leg. She sees Cate out of the corner of her eye, curled up on the sofa with her tea, but she doesn't look. She's determined to show Cate that the girl won't subsume the self, that they can do this right. Still, there's an urge to curl up at Cate's feet that she has to quell.

When she finishes her stretches, Miranda curls into a ball on her back, grasping her knees, eyes closed, rolling gently back and forth and rocking side to side to massage her spine. After a minute, she rises to her feet and goes to pour a cup of tea. She dithers for a moment in front of the sofa and then chooses to sit down next to Cate, albeit with her head resting against Cate's shoulder. Cate smiles and reaches across with her hand to stroke Miranda's hair.

"How do you feel?"

"Mm, better. Bit sore."

"Here?" Cate asks, resting her hand on Miranda's knee.

"Noo," Miranda replies, her voice light and teasing.

"Here?" Cate repeats, smile in her voice as her fingers trail up between Miranda's thighs, pressing evenly against her.

"Yes."

"Mm, I thought so. Drink your tea before it gets cold."

Miranda smiles and sips, and Cate withdraws her hand, stroking Miranda's ankle instead. "I have an idea," Miranda says after a moment, cupping her teacup in both hands, drawing warmth from the glazed ceramic.

"Yes?"

"I'd like to have a date night. Once a week, maybe Fridays."

"That sounds nice. And what would we do on our date night?"

"I don't know. Anything. Just… date night is for us. Some time to set aside for our relationship. I think maybe your relationships became stifling in the past because there was too much time taken up by the role you felt you had to occupy. I don't want that to happen to us."

"You're a smart girl," Cate says teasingly, rubbing a finger over Miranda's lips. "All right. We'll try a date night, then."

"Good. And maybe I can call you Miss when we're in private, but it doesn't have to mean that I'm not still me, you know? We could have a signal, to indicate that we're doing a scene."

"All right," Cate agrees. "What about… you can call me Miss anytime, but when we're not in scene, I'll call you Miranda, or Mirry. If I say girl, that's a scene signal, or at least means that I'd like to spend some time with you behaving as my girl. And if it's not really not a good time for you, you tell me."

"Yes, that's good. I can remember that."

"Good," Cate replies, falling silent again and stroking her hair, then her hip. They sit in companionable silence until Miranda's stomach growls, and Cate laughs, rising to her feet. "What would you like? Eggs? Bacon?"

"Oh, I don't know about bacon," Miranda replies with a little laugh. "An egg on toast?"

"Very well, my beautiful danseuse," Cate teases, kissing Miranda's forehead when she stands up, pressing her hands to the sides of Miranda's face. "And fruit, I think. There's a melon and some strawberries in the fridge, if you'd like to get them out."

Miranda nods and follows Cate to the kitchen, washing the strawberries in their plastic carton and dumping them all in a bowl, then slicing the melon carefully, Cate's chef's knife gleaming and sharp.

"Don't be so cautious," Cate says with a little laugh as she turns a burner on under the pan and knocks a pat of butter into it with her knife. "The sharper the knife, the better it cuts," she says, tucking a tendril of hair behind Miranda's ear and kissing it gently. "Less likely to slip."

"Hmm. Still."

Cate smiles and shakes her head. "Do as you wish," she teases, slicing half a loaf of crusty Italian bread and putting the slices in the toaster once the pan's hot.

"Where did you learn to cook?" Miranda asks, arranging the melon slices on a plate and wiping down the cutting board.

"At home. Geni was always out with some boy, and our parents were busy, so I'd have a craving for something and figure out how to make it. We had a few cookbooks in the house, and I'd go to the library and pick up more, copy out the recipes by hand."

Miranda smiles at the thought of little Cate, library card in hand, intent on learning how to make coque au vin or beef bourgignon. "Did your parents not mind your messing up the kitchen?"

"Ah, they could care less," Cate says with a hint of bitterness, sliding her spatula under each egg and letting it flap down onto a slice of toast. "As long as I fixed mum her four 'o clock martini, as long as dad had his friends and cigars and brandy, the world revolved ever on."

"They must be proud of your success."

"They must," Cate murmurs ironically, putting the plates on the table and taking a seat. "Here, eat up while it's hot."

Miranda does as she's told, biting into the chewy bread and egg and butter, moaning a little at the taste. She lets the subject drop, though she doesn't rule out a bit of prying later. "Do you have a lot of work to do this week?"

Cate shrugs. "There's a cycle. I'm less involved in the day-to-day operations now, more in the last minute approvals—budget, manuscripts, staff. It's a bit drab, but someone has to do it."

Miranda laughs. "I don't think I'd like your job very much," she admits. "But it's a good thing you've built."

"Hmm, indeed. An enterprise that I don't get to enjoy," Cate says with a laugh. "I do read our books, though. That's something in it for me."

"Do you have a favourite author?"

"Of ours?"

"No, anyone."

"I'm in love with Adrienne Rich, if you're counting poetry. I like something slow, sensual… Nabokov, Pablo Neruda… have you read _Like Water for Chocolate?_"

Miranda laughs. "An appropriate favourite for a foodie. Do you like Proust?"

"Hmm. Perhaps madeleines aren't for me," Cate teases. "I do adore Virginia Woolf."

"Oh, who doesn't?"

"What about you? What do you like?"

"Me? Oh, I don't know. I read a lot of crappy mysteries, these days. I used to adore Dostoevsky, back when I was smart. In school."

Cate smiles. "There are different kinds of smart. You're very intuitive."

"Am I?"

"Yes. Any fool could see that."

"Well, then. If only intuition paid the bills."

Cate shakes her head, sipping at her second cup of tea. "Do you like your job? The teaching?"

"I do. I wouldn't want children full time, but I enjoy working with them, most of the time. Sometimes it gets old, and I like doing master classes, working with adults. It's hard to stay motivated and in shape when all you're doing is chasée-ing around the room with eight-year olds."

"I can imagine. Do you miss the ballet?"

"Of course. But in a way… it's long hours, stressful on the body, and when you reach a certain age, constant injuries. It's a luxury to be able to take care of my body, rather than slowly destroying it."

"It's a body worth taking care of," Cate says with a little flirtatious grin, leaning forward and reaching under the table to skim her fingertips up the inside of Miranda's calf and knee and thigh. Miranda blushes a rosy pink and nibbles at a melon slice.

~*~

"Right then, Gen, you remember Miranda," Michael says as his wife comes over, resting his hand at her lower back.

"Of course. So good to see you again, Miranda. I understand you and my sister have become friends recently."

"Oh, yes," Miranda replies, hoping her blush isn't visible. "Quite. She's an outstanding woman."

"Indeed she is. And around here someplace, I believe."

"Ah, I'm sure I'll find her eventually," Miranda says, nibbling a canapé. "Congratulations on your anniversary."

"Thank you so much. We're so pleased you could come. Michael, could I borrow you in the kitchen for a moment?"

"Of course. Enjoy the party, Miranda."

"I will," Miranda agrees, accepting his two-cheek kiss and then weaving her way among the partygoers scattered around Cate's back patio and lawn. A few young women, younger members of the ballet corps, are dangling their legs in the pool, and they wave, recognizing her. She doesn't stop, though, seeing a shadow in an upstairs window. Smiling deviously to herself, she sneaks up the staircase when no one is looking and makes her way to Cate's bedroom, slipping out of her high-heeled shoes for a moment's reprieve, Cate's thick carpeting heaven on the soles of her feet. "You'll be missed, soon. Miss," Miranda adds, giggling as she winds her arms around Cate's waist. "What're you doing up here?"

"Mm. Waiting to see if I'd be missed," Cate replies, smiling and brushing her lips over Miranda's. "I wanted a moment alone with you. Parties can be so fucking stifling."

Miranda coos sympathetically and winds her arms around Cate's waist, kissing her neck. "It's all right, Miss. It'll all be over soon, and tonight when they all leave I'll sneak back in and take care of you. I give a halfway decent massage."

"Oh? That sounds fabulous."

"Mm-hmm. And I'll give you a bath and tuck you in," Miranda teases. "You're having the cleaners in tomorrow, aren't you?"

"God, yes. I'd never get through the detritus myself. And the caterers will do their part."

"Mm. The food's good. But not as good as yours."

"No, of course not," Cate teases, brushing her finger over Miranda's mouth. "From my hand to your lips."

"Always the sweetest way," Miranda mumbles, sucking gently on a fingertip. "Go ahead down first. I'll follow in a few minutes."

"All right. Thank you," Cate adds, lifting Miranda's hand and kissing her knuckles. "For not minding the secrecy."

"Oh, it's all right. It's a very nice secret to have," Miranda replies, smiling. "And delicious to know that I have you all to myself."

"That is delicious, isn't it?" Cate murmurs, pressing Miranda's slender hand to her chest. "Right here. Do you doubt that?"

"No, Miss. Not the way you show me."

Cate smiles, and the look on her face before she leaves the bedroom convinces Miranda that she is happy. She smiles and sits on the edge of the bed, leaning back and splaying her limbs, turning her face to the side and feeling Egyptian cotton against her cheek. She smells sex and perfume and the lingering hint of Cate and herself. She curls up then, into a ball, surrounded by the fabric of her skirt, and closes her eyes.

To belong, Miranda decides—to find the missing slot for one's own unique puzzle piece—is the most extravagant feeling in the world. She stretches again, and rolls from side to side, and she smiles.


End file.
